


Grent's Fall

by DragonAtma



Category: Darroverse
Genre: Fictional World, Gen, Medieval, Military, no magic, rotating viewpoint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24706399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonAtma/pseuds/DragonAtma
Summary: It has been seven years since King Osbert Grent overthrew the Stanley dynasty, but rebellions against his rule have not stopped. With news of Henry Darro's rebellion, the king sets off on what may be his final campaign.





	Grent's Fall

"Another one!?" King Osbert Grent pounded his throne's armrest. "I shattered Emmett Cobham's rebellion at Pecton! I personally beheaded Tyok Chandos at Pennwara Isle, ending his uprising! I crushed Turbert Stafford's revolt at Whitestone! And now Henry Darro dares to join them?"

"My lord," Hereward Capell warned him, "I fear that force of arms is not enough. I would love to see your reign outlast even Warren Stanley the Old, but despite your talents you can only be in one place."

"Indeed, your majesty," Laurence Holles murmured. "Remember, not only are the Bladecleaver's -- I mean, Turbert Stafford's -- followers still defying you, but Elias and Reginald Halifax still oppose you, as does Lionel Ferrers. Perhaps if you lowered taxes to normal, they --"

"Taxes!?" Osbert exclaimed incredulously. "The taxes that pay our troops? The taxes that give them weapons and armor? The taxes that, after the rebellions, will let us finally subjugate the Zel Confederation?"

"But your majesty! Only if we lower taxes will we -- "

"LAURENCE!" Osbert's followers knew that tone ended the conversation. "We are NOT lowering taxes! We will march out, we will put Henry Darro's head on a pike, and we will return home."

The king's advisors looked at each other and sighed.

\---

No less than ten thousand troops marched out under King Osbert's personal banner. After over two decades in the military, first under the last kings of the Stanley dynasty and then as their successor, his troops included many veterans and, among them, the kingdom's best-trained soldiers. His top advisors Hereward Capell and Laurence Holles were with him, while his third son Osmond joined him for his first real battle.

To the right were another five thousand troops under Duke Abel Marnhull. As Osbert's close friend since childhood, Abel proved himself both in combat and in leading troops, as Tyok Chandos's cousin found out the hard way. To the left, acclaimed General Arthur Hicks led five thousand more. While younger than most generals, he excelled at keeping his soldiers' morale high, directly causing a victory over Turbert Stafford's second-in-command. Even Ummit Yardow, the kingdom's founder so many centuries ago would be no match for Osbert's army.

Setting out from Osbert's capital the army marched north, crossing the Fife Plains and approached the Great Sky River. Now that they crossed the mighty river, they were close to Henry Darro's rebels.

"Your majesty," Laurence said, "I received a report from the scouts; Henry Darro's closest troops have been seen three miles to the northwest under Anthony Tyndale."

"At last, father, we can go defeat them."

"Not so fast, Osmond, as they may have a trick up their sleeves. Hereward, have they been acting suspiciously?"

"Indeed, my lord; there only seemed to be a few hundred soldiers. But despite their size, they acted as if they had thousands."

"Were they sending messengers out?"

"Yes, my lord, in multiple directions."

"Sounds like they're attempting a dying moon."

"Dying... moon? But it's not night, father!"

"Young prince," Hereward explained, "think of the thin moon just before it vanishes. They arrange their troops like that with a bait that retreats into the middle. And when an army chases the bait..." he slammed his hands together.

"Then we just.... ignore it, father?"

"No, Osmond", Osbert replied, "there's a better way."

-===-

Edwin One-Hand gripped his sword. As a child, illness left his left hand useless, but that didn't stop him from strapping a shield to his arm and joining the military the way his father and grandfather did. His first battle was Osbert Grent's final battle to overthrow the Stanley dynasty, but by now he led a good twenty soldiers. And in King Osbert's name, he would lead them to victory!

A drumroll resounded through the army. "Charge!" And with the rest of General Hicks's army, he charged.

Three hundred yards to the enemy. Two fifty. Two hundred. Arrows started flying. One eighty. One fifty. Raising his shield, Edwin deflected an arrow harmlessly. One thirty.

"Aaaaagh!" One of the arrows must have found Thomas Chester. Thomas had been in the army three years, and over time they grew close. Every bone in Edwin's body wanted him to comfort Thomas, but this was war. Pausing, even for a friend, would invite arrows to strike Edwin.

One hundred ten yards. Eighty. Ka-thunk! An arrow embedded itself in Edwin's shield. Bashing it with his sword broke off most of the arrow; Edwin did not need its extra weight.

Sixty yards. Forty-five. Thirty. Fifteen. And then, contact.

Edwin had years of training. A parry, a slash; his opponent deflected it, but Edwin could tell he had the advantage. Two more slashes to break through his opponent's defenses, and then one to his neck. As his opponent collapsed, Edwin looked for new targets.

Parry, slash, dodge, parry, slash. As Edwin's third target fell, the enemy force lost their nerve and fled. Time to chase them down.

\---

"Skies willin' and the creek don't rise!" Abel Hopton's home village ran by that line for generations, and it was clear that Osbert Grent was the rising creek. He kept pushing up taxes, he forced pointless changes, and he kept appointing fools who were good in combat but knew nothing about ruling the land.

Abel joined Tyok Chandos until things went south, he followed Turbert the Bladecleaver until they had to scatter, he was now with Henry Darro, and by the two rivers, if Henry didn't topple Osbert he'd be with the next rebellion too!

Now, Abel was no good at leading people. He tried that against Generals Harold Cromwell and Leonard Gaunt at Whitestone, and all that got him was a bunch of dead guys who might've still been around if they had someone more talented. No, Abel was better at fighting than leading and at getting away when it looked like he shouldn't. So he didn't mind taking orders from someone sensible.

"They've taken the bait. Charge!" Abel didn't think twice as he gripped his spear. With his fellow soldiers, he charged forward. As arrows flew overhead, ahead of him stood a wall of heavy infantry. Maybe the rumors were right about General Hicks being here? But even if he was there, and he planned this, he was surrounded. But this was no time for thinking, it was time for stabbing!

But... where would he stab? He was facing a soldier with a gray shield the size of a mountain and solid armor and helmet. Stabbing the shield wouldn't work, and the helmet gave no room for stabs... Hey! Abel sidestepped that wall of a man's spear. Abel should be doing the stabbing, not his foe! But while Abel kept dodging this foe's spear, HIS stabs either bounced off that shield or were deflected.

"Norwich, to the back! Weston, to the back!" Why was the commander ordering groups of soldiers to the back when the enemies were in front of them? Especially when the guy next to him was just speared in the throat? It doesn't make sense! But enough thinking.

A bit of pain shot through Abel's shoulder. Too much thinking, and the enemy spearhead sliced open his shoulder. It probably looked worse than it was, but the next one could be much worse. Rivers be dammed! Abel jammed his spear into the enemy's eyeslot, and the enemy jerked backwards. The spear was stuck there! But instincts worked for him as his foe grabbed it and yanked it out, showing a bit of red on the tip. Maybe Abel got him! But maybe it was as minor as his shoulder. But maybe--

"Griffin, to the back!" Hey, that was his group! He backed away from the gray soldier, as they seemed to value their formation much. After a few steps and a few more, he turned and ran to the -- what!? Why were there blue armored soldiers with axes? They were supposed to be surrounding Osbert's army, not the reverse!

Unlike the gray soldiers, these blue soldiers were not here to defend, but to attack, and casualties were mounting. Abel speared his first foe, just as a neighbor was sliced open. But with their casualties mounting -- and the gray soldiers behind them -- it wasn't turning out too well.

Oh floods, his spear! He was overthinking again, and his speartip was sliced off! What good is a spear with no tip? He'd have to take one from a fallen soldier. Or from his neighbor, who just dropped his spear and fled. Wait, WHAT? Aww floods, Henry Darro'll be the next Tyok Chandos, won't he?

Abel ran. Sure, his spearshaft wouldn't be useful for stabbing people, but it could still deflect! Maybe not those axes, but other weapons! 

"Stay and fight! STAY AND FIGHT! STAY AND--" But why listen to his fool of a commander? More and more soldiers were fleeing, and it sounded like the commander just gave his last command. Bashing an enemy with his spearshaft, he escaped the melee! Henry Darro may be all talk, but there'll be the next guy! 

*Thunk*! Thanks to that arrow, Abel's left leg gave out beneath him. As his so-called allies fled, it was clear he wasn't the only one taken down. And enemy soldiers were closing in on the downed ones. In pain, Abel futilely swung his ruined spear at one, who promptly swung back.

Abel Hopton would not be supporting any more rebellions.

-===-

"Father! That was great!"

"Thanks to Count Alan Alford's lure, General Hicks's men tore through the rebels, young prince," Hereward Capell cautioned him, "but much of Henry Darro's force is still intact. We should not be celebrating while enemy forces are still ready to strike at us." 

"Why attack two forces at once, father? Wouldn't it be better to only fight one at a time?"

"Of course it would", King Osbert explained, "which is why our enemies don't want it to happen. Unfortunately, for all his talent, Abel is still lax on scouting. I WILL have a word with him, because not finding Elias Halifax's army meant he was too occupied to help crush Henry Darro's force."

"But... but we still have a lot of men, right, father?"

Laurence Holles frowned. "We do, your highness, but the duke's absence means we lost more than we should have. About one in twenty soldiers are dead or maimed, and twice as many will need time to heal -- time which we may not have."

That was a lot of troops! Osmond frowned. "If we won the battle, they lost more than we did, right?"

"Undoubtedly, your highness, but remember: there are other rebels as well. Lionel Ferrers is fighting your elder brother in the Jent Expanse far to the northwest, Turbert Stafford's followers were scattered but not slain, Elias and Reginald Halifax are still causing trouble, and there are some survivors from the earlier rebellions. If we can't keep at least half of our army I worry about the future."

"Please forgive me, your majesty," a soldier announced, "but there's another messenger from Duke Abel Marnhull's division, your majesty!" The soldier clearly was nervous around royalty. 

"Good. Send in the messenger!"

-===-

"May the river spirits flow with the Halifax brothers." Paul Knyvett remained true to his mother's faiths, even though his father, Lagot moved from the northeast to the old capital seeking a better life. Even after three and a half centuries, the foresters still recall the days before the Kent dynasty conquered them. The rebellions against Osbert Grent were the perfect time for the foresters to rule their homeland, and the time to strike was while Henry Darro's rebels distracted the king's army.

As with so many of his countrymen, Paul Knyvett took up the bow. The wind spirits guided his arrows before, and they would again. After all, what mortal could be as accurate as one assisted by spirits?

"Archers! Fire!" Silently asking the spirits for assistance, Paul let loose his first arrow. At heart he was a hunter, not a warrior, but firing arrows at a distant soldier was similar to firing them at a charging boar. Nock an arrow -- one had to make their own arrows to trust them -- and ask the spirits. Aim, aim again, and shoot. And nearly two hundred yards away, an enemy soldier sprouted blue feathers and collapsed.

Paul reached for another handmade arrow. The army offered arrows, but Paul felt better off using his own. And as he fired his arrows, they showed surprising accuracy. But all too quickly, the frontline troops made contact.

As the neat lines of men dissolved into a mayhem of blades, Paul stowed his bow and drew a pair of knives from his belt. These knives were meant for cutting meat or, if necessary, fending off animals. In Paul's hands, they were practically extensions of his arms, but were not meant to hurt humans. Paul whispered an apology to the spirits and waited for enemy troops.

Eventually, a cluster of enemy troops broke through. "Let them approach you; do not charge them!" Paul agreed with his commander; letting the foes approach meant letting them get cut off from their allies. And when they did, Paul and his fellow archers unleashed their backup weapons, whether Paul's knives, a farmer's scythe, or a blacksmith's hammer.

As they made contact, Paul warily eyed his foe's axe with his knives up. Dodging the first blow, he deflected the second blow with one knife while stabbing downwards with the other. Like a threatening animal, his foe was hamstrung. Paul promptly stabbed his foe's neck as he apologized to the spirits; his foe should not have to suffer.

"Aaaagh!" Paul turned to assist his neighbor. Guy Milbroke was a farmer; what would he know about war? And yet, after seven years of Osbert Grent he had enough and joined the Brothers' Rebellion. He had already been slashed once, and would likely lose his arm. Paul turned to assist him. The foe raised his axe to finish off Guy, only for Paul to stab him in the arm. His foe dropped his weapon -- not that it would matter as Paul sliced his throat. "Thank you, thank you, thank you. If I don't make it home, tell my wife... tell her I love her."

"You'll live to tell her yourself, Guy; let's back up so I can bandage you." Better that than hunting humans. 

As Paul assisted Guy, his fellow archers closed ranks ahead of them. With the battle behind them cutting them off, the enemy cluster shrunk from death, wounds, and surrender until they were forty, then twenty-five, then ten, and then zero.

\---

"Henry Whaddon, have the Bardolf company reinforce General Cromwell! Gregory Kensing, notify the duke that he may need to shift some troops to the left." He was Christopher Marnhull, second son of the king's top duke. But far from sitting in a pampered life at the castle, his father insisted that he train to be skilled at leading men -- and he succeeded enough to be a top commander in his father's division.

"Affirmative, sir!" As the messengers ran off, Christopher surveyed the troops before him. While he and his father were pressing the foe's troops strongly enough for a temporary breakthrough, General Harold Cromwell faced a surprisingly talented foe. As commander of the middle division, hitting the enemy force strong enough would distract them and ease up pressure on General Cromwell.

With the two armies fighting, expecting a second cavalry charge would be folly; Christopher and his bodyguards dismounted early in the battle and were fighting on foot since then. The flow of war gave them a breather, but it was time to hit their foes again.

"My bodyguards, we need to drive a hole in the enemy force -- and who is better suited for it than us? Charge!" The unit -- some of the army's best-trained, most heavily-armored forces -- charged forward at their enemies. With other troops making way, they were again swinging swords at their foes.

It was not much of a contest. While they were facing spearmen, in most cases the spears would just bounce off of their plate armor -- and that's not counting the spears that were deflected or outright dodged. Those same spearmen, meanwhile, had leather armor or even regular clothes, which offered limited protection against their swords.

As Christopher Marnhull cut down a second and a third foe, the enemy began to waver. "Bodyguards and soldiers, advance!" Soon, the enemy center collapsed. But instead of chasing them, General Cromwell needed assistance. "Men, to Reginald Halifax's banner! Bring it down!"

With the enemies cut in two, flanking the larger force was easy; the enemy archers seemed to almost melt away until they reached the heavily-armored foes near the flag. Both were covered in steel, so swords would bounce off of them.

Christopher swung anyway. If there was an answer, it would come from a superior position. Both sides slashed back and forth, but Christopher's bodyguard was twice as large, so each foe faced two blades. Eventually, his foe was knocked down, revealing a thin pink line. They were so rushed for the rebellion that they skimped on neck armor! Grabbing his sword in both hands, Christopher thrust downwards into the gap between the enemy's cuirass and helmet. Yanking it out, he turned to the next foe.

"He's down! I got Reginald Halifax!" One of his bodyguards overcame one of the two brothers, and was holding up the head for the foes to see. With their reason nullified, the enemy rank-and file troops ran, followed by the bodyguards. The battle was over.

-===-

"Forgive me, Osbert; scouting is my one weakness." Of the millions who recognized Osbert Grent as king (or should have), Duke Abel Marnhull was one of the few permitted to call Osbert by just his name.

"At ease, Abel. I hear that the Halifax brothers will no longer bother us."

"Indeed; while I fought Elias on the right and General Cromwell fought Reginald on the left, my son broke through in the center. He wheeled to the left and struck at Reginald's flank until they reached the rebel himself and took him down."

"Excellent! Osmond, this may be your first campaign, but I'll make a talented leader out of you yet. Can you tell me why the flank attacks usually work?"

"Umm, uhh..."

"Osmond, my son's flank attack worked because the enemies were unprepared for melee combat. Instead of fighting the armored frontline, they were mainly fighting archers who prefer staying dozens of feet from their foes. Sure, Reginald and his bodyguards were well armored, but they were greatly outnumbered."

"That... that makes sense, Duke Marnhull. I don't think I'll ever be as good at war as you or your son, though."

"Give it time, lad; everyone had their first war." The duke turned to his liege. "Anyway, Elias was not as good at war as his brother, so we sent his flank running. He tried to flee, but our light cavalry caught up with him and knocked him off his horse; he was promptly swarmed and put down."

"They should have known better than to revolt against me! But where's General Harold Cromwell?"

"Unfortunately... unfortunately General Cromwell's horse was struck by an unlucky arrow and fell on the general's leg. By the time my son slew Reginald, it was too late to save him."

"Damn! It's just like Thomas Walding's untimely death five centuries ago!"

"Indeed; if General Walding lived, the Annaling rebellion against the Kent dynasty may have been thirty days instead of thirty years, and if Cromwell was still with us, he could repeat his stunning victory against Arkil Orreby's uprising."

"In any case, Abel, it's time for us to strike at Henry Darro again. And this time, remember to send enough scouts!"

-===-

Oxrest was not a a city; it was barely even a town. Its main fame was a battle in Harold Stanley's war to overthrow the Kent dynasty, but Simon Lyle knew it as his home. Like too many towns, the king assigned someone good at war but bad at peace. Resentment grew, and when Henry Darro's force approached the old capital, the people of Oxrest promptly deposed their local lord and joined them. But now, the king's army was threatening to retake it.

Now, Simon Lyle was a strong man; what weakling would have a future as a blacksmith? When chaos was approaching the capital, Simon started forging himself armor as a precaution; even though the Bladecleaver's forces were scattered before it reached the town, Simon continued forging just in case. And by the time Osbert's forces were threatening to retake it, Simon had a shield and a full suit of armor to match his hammer. It wasn't fancy like a noble's armor, but it was definitely functional.

Anthony Tyndale, Henry Darro's close friend and trusted general saw Simon's armor and assumed that he was in charge of Oxrest's soldiers. After all, his fellow townspeople had leather armor or no armor at all. Simon disagreed -- what did he know about leading people? -- but Anthony promptly declared he would be SIR Simon Lyle if he agreed to lead his townspeople and promised him an actual nobility title if he did well.

But the king's forces were approaching, and the men expected a speech. "Osbert's forces are approaching our homes, and it's up to us to stop them. We won't all return from battle, but if we work together we will keep our homes and families safe. Now, let's work with Henry Darro's men to hold them off!"

To Simon's surprise, his fellow townspeople not only accepted the speech, but shouted in support. But even as they lined up with their mishmash of weapons ready, they were untrained for war; what hope would they have against Osbert's trained soldiers? Simon asked for some trained troops to back up his line, but only a few could be spared.

The wait and worry were grating on his nerves. When would the enemy arrive? How many people would fall in the initial charge? How many afterwards? But worrying would not solve things; much like blacksmithing, war took time and required patience.

Eventually, the king's army arrived. As Simon's townspeople shouted at them, their foes charged. Trained soldiers versus a mob of townspeople who couldn't even march properly? But as they crashed into each other, Simon Lyle had to deal with one of the last things he expected to deal with.

His townspeople held.

Sure, the king knew that untrained people would be here, so he mixed in his greenest troops, but even they were superior to Simon's townspeople. But as Simon smashed a foe with his hammer, his army was howling for blood. Simon underestimated how much his townspeople worried about their homes and their raw fury at seven years of misrule. And so did the king.

It was time to give Osbert a very bad day.

\---

"Milord, Sir Simon Lyle's forces are holding off the usurper's forces!"

"Good, good. Tell the Rivers and Enfield divisions to unleash the primary plan!" Anthony Tyndale wasn't about to toss away Simon's forces; after all, he and his best friend, Henry Darro both grew up as commoners and knew what they had to deal with, both before and after Osbert's coup. If disaster struck, the Enfield division would reinforce Simon's forces while the Rivers division would flank the pursuers long enough for Simon and Enfield to counterattack.

But now, with Simon's forces giving as good as they get, the Enfield and Rivers divisions were free to ram a hole in the usurper's green troops and, ideally, cut off an entire wing.

"Affirmative, milord!"

With that, Anthony Tyndale's divisions charged forward. Obviously, neither Osbert nor his top commanders would fall for a simple attack. That's why both the usurper's force and his two wings had to be pinned down.

And then, contact. As Anthony led his bodyguards forward, reports were coming in. Osbert may have won the first battle, and the Halifax brothers may have not been the usurper's equal, but this time was different. Reinforcements had arrived, and Anthony's forces were holding their own.

"Send the Enfield and Rivers divisions forward as planned!" No, they would not likely be enough to break through on their own, but war would rarely be so simple.

Anthony Tyndale's armor -- as well as his bodyguards' armor -- would deflect any normal man's blades, but at the same time his foes had sturdy shields. But one by one they would gradually fall in battle, although occasionally one of Anthony's bodyguards would join them.

"Milord! The Enfield and Rivers divisions can't break through, as General Bernard Crewe reinforced the army with General Hicks's reserves!"

"Not surprising. Start phase two!" 

"Yes, milord!"

It was time to finish this battle.

\---

General Arthur Hicks was disappointed. In the previous two battles the rebels were defeated easily, but this time not only were they fighting back, but it seemed had even more troops than before.

But General Hicks was not disappointed in his soldiers. They fought well in the first battle, and they continued to fight well.

General Hicks was not disappointed in his commanders. They led the wing's troops well and brought the first battle to victory.

General Hicks was not disappointed in his top lieutenants, Count Alan Alford and General Bernard Crewe. The first one kept his forces alive as bait for the dying moon formation, and the second one shattered it.

No, General Hicks was disappointed in himself. Even as his troops exceeded the enemies in both equipment and skill, they not only could not force a victory, but required his reserves early on.

"General Hicks! They're pushing us back in both directions, especially near Baron Walter Capell's force and Count Alan Alford's division!"

"Have General Crewe support the baron; I'll go to the count's aid."

The king requested that half of General Hicks's spies support Duke Marnhull to make up for his weakness. As he swung his glaive, he mused if he sent too many spies. Without sending as many, could he prevent the current disaster?

"General, sir! We've been cut off from the king's main army!"

"General Hicks, we've lost contact with General Crewe!"

The current disaster, of course, was Nicholas Warde's army. With fewer spies available to catch them, Henry Darro somehow managed to maneuver an entire army behind him.

"Damn! What about--"

"Oh, general! We're surrounded by enemy troops."

General Arthur Hicks paused for a moment. "Forgive me, men. You have not failed me; I have failed you. If you can find a way to safety, please, do so; the least I can do is to try and assist you."

And General Hicks led his final charge.

-===-

"And the others?"

"Oh great king, there are no others. We are all that's left of General Hicks's division."

Osbert turned pale and covered his face as he slumped in his seat. General Arthur Hicks, one of his best generals marched from the capital leading five thousand soldiers -- fully a quarter of the army. And now, only nineteen of them remained.

Over the next day, more survivors dribbled in, mostly by ones and twos. Some managed to fight their way to safety. A couple faked their deaths and fled during the night. One crippled commander even managed to lead half his unit out of danger. But even so, they still totaled only sixty-eight soldiers -- and that included the wounded ones.

"The rebel's forces pushed us on all fronts, and General Hicks's wing was cut off.... and now the wing is gone, exceeding even my worst fears."

"But we'll stop them, right, father?"

"Osmond, only a third of our army is in fighting shape. General Hicks and his top leaders, General Crewe and Count Alford are dead. Even Laurence Holles fell to an unlucky spear. The traitor... the traitor has won this campaign."

"Then we're... doomed?"

"No, young prince; we merely need to return home and find more troops. Your father already dispatched a messenger to Count Andrew Claver, who will surely assist his liege."

"Indeed, Hereward. We must withdraw for now, but we WILL repay the traitor a thousand times over!"

-===-

Ava Carleton was never known for yielding for others. She picked out her own husband, Richard Carleton (much to her parents' dismay) and was easily as strong as her brother, Edgar Darro. When the two men joined the Halifax brothers, she provided them scouting support -- up until an early "victory" lost most of Benedict Havering's division, including both her brother and husband.

Cursing the Halifax brothers, she abandoned their rebellion, but now another Darro -- possibly her distant relative -- was leading a new rebellion. Within days, "Albin Carr" joined Henry Darro's forces, ready to avenge "his" family. But even so, she let down her hair while scouting so people would let down their guard.

"Ma'am!" Looks like another enemy scout arrived.

"Sir?"

"You're not safe wandering around here; with Henry Darro's rebels about, it's a war zone."

"S-sorry, sir; after the Halifax brothers murdered my husband and my brother, I've been trying to flee to safety south of the Great Sky River." She sobbed. "All I have are the clothes on my back."

The scout's face softened, as fleeing the area was not a new thing. "Don't worry ma'am, the king's army will keep you safe as you flee."

This was Ava's chance. "I'm glad his army is northwest of us, keeping those horrible, horrible rebels away from us."

The scout turned and pointed. "North and a bit east, actu-- ugh!" He promptly collapsed.

Ava wordlessly withdrew her dagger from the scout's throat. She and others were eliminating enemy scouts southwest of the Osbert's army, driving the army southeast instead. It was a dirty job, but it had to be done.

\---

With the loss of General Hicks's entire wing, the king was withdrawing to safety. But with scout after scout dying, Duke Abel Marnhull's entire wing was traveling southwest to scout in force.

"With our position worse than it should be, it's up to us to make sure King Osbert brings the main part of the army across the river. As the leader, I will head southwest in force and find out what's killing so many scouts."

"And what of us, your grace?"

"Count Ioco, protect the west so the rebels can't flank us."

"Aye, your grace. It'll just be like when we freed my home, Pennwara Isle!"

"Christopher, I'm counting on you to protect our supply train."

"At once, father!"

"And Sir Charles Ironfist, we need you as reserves in case trouble occurs."

"In the name of the Ironfist family, I shan't let you down, my lord!"

As the three headed to their positions, Abel brought his forces southwest to investigate, only to find peasants fleeing south from the combat. But soon he realized that the peasants' clothes were too neat, too clean, too suspiciously similar; it was clear they were counter-scouts arranging "accidents" for the army's scouts.

A loose force like this would surely have a force of soldiers, even if it was only to organize them. And sure enough, alcohol and a pouch of coins convinced a greedy man to give directions.

Soon after that, they made contact with a small enemy force. Right off the bat, Duke Abel's bastard sword slew an overly brave foe, followed by blocking, crippling, and finishing off another. But as he parried and slashed he heard a call from the left.

"Oh Duke, we're being pushed back!"

At once, he wheeled to reinforce the Tufton division. But after taking out two enemies, the enemies parted to let their massive leader through. He was a giant of a man; Abel was a few inches bigger than the average human, but his foe was at least a head taller than him and wielded a monster of a sword at least as long as a normal man's height.

But despite its size, he wielded it as quickly as if it was a dagger. Abel deflected blow after blow, but he had no chance to counterattack as he was driven back and his bastard sword gained nick after nick. Finally, one mighty blow snapped Abel's blade in half, and Abel's armor did little better.

And that's why they call him Turbert the Bladecleaver.

\---

Former duke Warren Stanley had been destined for greatness, or so he thought. He was named after the realm's longest-reigning king, he was the last king's nephew, and his cleverness showed signs of being one of the heir's most important nobles. But then his uncle foolishly gave a neighboring duchy desperately needed food when both were crippled by a famine. Sure, they gained the distant northwest, but the riots led to his uncle being overthrown by the usurper, Osbert Grent. 

Naturally, he joined rebellions against the usurper early on. Emmett Cobham distrusted him -- even as his rebellion started, he dreamed of a Cobham dynasty -- but Warren proved himself in combat. Illness prevented him from assisting Tyok Chandos, but his foresight saved the Bladecleaver's rebellion from collapsing in the first battle. And now, he was in the perfect position to distinguish himself again.

"Get ready, everyone!"

While Henry Darro and the Halifax brothers fought the usurper, Warren's army traveled south, aiming to sack the usurper's capital while the usurper was occupied. But as news reached him of the usurper's defeat, he swung around. If Osbert was captured or killed, it would mean the end of the dynasty and, quite likely, the return of the Stanley dynasty.

Warren raised his spear. "Charge!"

Flanked by his bodyguards, Warren lead the vanguard. His force may have been slightly outnumbered, but the usurper's army was reeling from a defeat and crippled by the loss of at least one wing.

And then, contact. With a deadly thicket of spears, the enemy swordsmen could not fight through them, and were slowly being picked off. As they wavered, Warren pushed forward.

"The center is breaking, men. Let's force our way through!"

His bodyguards didn't need to be told twice. Soon the enemies scattered, only to be replaced by a heavily-armored regiment, almost certainly one of Osbert's leaders.

"My duke, the Valence division is being pushed back!" The messenger looked worried.

"Harold Parr, lead the Musgrave and Ashburn divisions to reinforce them." Warren Stanley was needed front and center; if he was going to take down the usurper, he couldn't flee off to support his wing, especially when his second-in-command could handle it.

"Yes, my duke!"

But for now, the armored troops were a threat. Even when the spears got past the enemies' shields, they tended to deflect off the enemy's armor... or even break from the stress or from being sliced in two by the enemies' axes. And Warren's spear was no exception.

"Men, swords!" Warren's bodyguards dropped their spears. Drawing their swords, they confronted their foes up close and personal. Their foes gave almost as good as they got, but Warren's bodyguards outnumbered them, equipped and paid by the Stanley dynasty's wealth.

Grabbing his foe's right hand by the wrist, Warren swung his sword, only for it to be blocked by the enemy shield. With all four arms occupied, Warren resorted on one of the oldest technique... kicking the enemy between the legs. Sure, the enemy had plate armor, but Warren had steel, pointed boots, and that was enough. As his foe staggered back in pain, Warren took aim with his sword and gave a fatal blow.

"The rebels killed General Gaunt!" The commander's bodyguards, now leaderless and shrinking in numbers, fled as many of Warren's bodyguards reclaimed their spears.

"Men, to the usurper's death!"

Surrounded by his bodyguards, Warren charged forwards. And there he was. He was the vile usurper, Osbert Grent, who overthrew his uncle and his dynasty. "Usurper Grent, today you die!"

Narrowing his eyes, Osbert drew not one but two swords. So what? With bodyguards at his side, Warren charged forward, confident that his foe would fall.

Moments later, the sky spun. Warren realized he was not as clever as he thought, as he had doomed any hopes of a Stanley revival. Even his foolish uncle was smarter than him, as his uncle was still a minor lord, while Warren's own head stained the grass and the usurper's blades.

-===-

How did it come to this? His forces crushed the dying moon formation, while his best friend wiped out both of the Halifax brothers. The enemies were on the ropes, yet they managed to turn things around and slice off General Arthur Hicks's army. As the traitors pulled out one army of treacherous peasants after another, first Hicks died, and then his best friend, Duke Abel Marnhull.

And now, the army was down to a fraction of its starting strength; even the Stanleys' whelp managed to slay General Leonard Gaunt and put the remaining forces at risk. Sure, he was put down with a single slice, but the royal army was falling apart.

"Father, what can we do? The army is mostly gone, and everyone is dying! Even Christopher is despondent over his father's death!"

"Young prince, I understand your worry. With so many deaths, from the king's top duke to my cousin the baron and my close friend, Laurence Holles, we are in no shape to fight off the forces that drove us southeast.

Nobody needed to point out that the rebel's forces were to the west, while heading south or east would eventually reach a hostile rival.

"Your majesty, how... how will we avenge my -- I mean our tragedies?"

"We... we are out of options. The only route left is finding a way west, past the traitor's army.

"Aye, not only did the duke fall in battle, but so did Charles and most of his men. I brought the few survivors here, but our wing is down to a few hundred."

"But father, won't the rebels interfere?"

"Yes, which is why -- if your majesty agrees -- I will stay behind to delay them. Someone has to, and I just may be able to avenge my father!"

"No, Christopher. Your father was my closest friend, and I can't insult his memory by sending you on a such a risky task. Remember, I sent a messenger to Count Andrew Claver; if we cross the Great Sky River and skirt the Tortoise Peaks, we should meet up with him in enough numbers to force our way past the rebels."

Nobody needed to point out that this was their last hope.

-===-

This was it. Through his seven-year reign, Osbert put down four major rebellions and numerous smaller ones. But with each victory, not only were his armies weakened, but innocent peasants lost family and friends. Behind the scenes, Henry Darro quietly assembled the disgruntled survivors and finally started an even larger rebellion than Andrew Annaling's uprising nearly a thousand years ago.

True, Osbert lived up to his reputation -- the Halifax brothers were crushed, while Warren Stanley was slain -- but after four fierce battles, his army was crippled. And that's why Henry Darro marched his forces east, eager to finish off Osbert before he could cross the Great Sky River and gain reinforcements.

"Milord!" The messenger seemed nervous. "Nicholas Warde's army made contact with the usurper just west of Pinewick!"

"Good, let him know we'll be there to reinforce them shortly." He assembled his army and marched out. Soon, they made contact. As planned, the Bladecleaver would block the usurper from the south, while Harold Parr would take Warren Stanley's forces and loop around to the north. With Anthony Tyndale in reserve, that left Henry Darro to reinforce Nicholas Warde. "Forward, for the good of the realm!"

Cheers went up in Nicholas's army as Henry Darro reinforced them. Wielding his trusty fauchard, Henry and his bodyguard made contact with the enemy line. One parry, one jab, and one slash took out a demoralized foe. Osbert must not have been nearby to encourage this division, which was just as well; only a fool would consider Henry Darro his equal in combat skills. As he fought off a second soldier, another messenger arrived.

"Milord, the usurper has been seen down south. Lord Anthony Tyndale's forces are already traveling to reinforce the Bladecleaver!"

"Good, the false king's reign will finally end." Osbert's talents would also be his downfall. While body doubles existed, of course, there was no way they could match his famed skill. Naturally, plans were made in advance for Anthony to reinforce whichever division was facing him. With such a severe deficit in morale and numbers, Osbert's forces would be ground down, and he would eventually fall.

\---

"Eeeagh!"

King Osbert Grent withdrew his left sword from his twenty-sixth foe. For centuries, dual wielding meant a sword and a dagger, as two swords would just get in each others' way. But near the end of the Stanley dynasty, William Whaddon found a way to use two swords in battle and demonstrated his technique to the king by fighting three skilled guards at once to a standstill. He then went on to teach the kings' men and was rewarded with a count title. Even so, maybe one in twenty experienced warriors could handle the Whaddon Bypass.

"Urgh..."

King Osbert was easily one in twenty.

But even as he tore through the enemy numbers like a whirlwind of death, his already-crippled army shrunk even further. By now, he could only count on his personal bodyguard and maybe a dozen other soldiers; the rest were either fallen or separated from him.

"No! My leg!" Osbert's twenty-eighth foe fell as he turned to his next target. But how many more would he have to slice through to escape? Wait, the enemies were starting to back away. No, they were opening a path for HIM to arrive.

"You should have died." Osbert kicked his twenty-ninth foe off his right sword. "Instead, you survived your rebellion, opposed me again, and slew my best friend. Today will be your final day, Stafford."

"Or yours, general."

The two of them were equally matched. With his massive sword, the Bladecleaver had no problem deflecting the king's blades, but the king had no problem blocking and evading the Bladecleaver's slices. Even while the battle raged around them, two of the land's greatest warriors swung at each other like anger and fury given flesh. They were so dedicated to the duel that neither would have noticed if the world broke in half.

And then, the duel ended.

While they fought, the lopsided battle went on around them. Severely outnumbered, Osbert's bodyguards fell, one by one. Finally, with no bodyguards remaining alive, a soldier greener than grass thrust his spear at the king's back. Fatally.

"Turbert Stafford... no, Turbert the Bladecleaver... tell Henry Darro not to follow my mistakes unless he wants to to end up like me."

"Do not worry, King Osbert; I will help him be a good king."

And King Osbert collapsed, spear and all.

-===-

With Osbert Grent's death, the dynasty was finished. Although Christopher Marnhull and Ioco of Pennwara Isle managed to break through Henry Darro's forces, only a few hundred soldiers were able to follow them.

Messengers from Henry Darro were dispatched across the country, and news of Osmond Grent's desperate flight south across the Great Sky River only reinforced that image. Within days, over a dozen counts would swear loyalty to Henry Darro. Even in the apparent safety of Inverdar, greedy Count Andrew Claver threatened to imprison Osmond and hand him over to Henry; only extravagant promises prevented that.

The final straw was when they reached the capital; a messenger reported that Osbert's eldest son, Osgood fell in battle with Lionel Ferrers two days before his father. Since Osbert's second son died as an infant, Osmond was technically king -- but an uncrowned king in an undefendable capital of an unsalvageable dynasty.

Before the day was out, Hereward Capell was sent to Henry Darro to arrange Osmond's submission.

After two dynasty changes and multiple rebellions, Henry Darro saw the need for reconciliation, not vengeance. Osmond and Christopher, would both be recognized as counts in return for their allegiance to the Darro dynasty. Osbert's army, from Ioco down to Edwin One-Hand and his remaining soldiers would be added into Henry's army, and men of talent still had a chance of promotion. Hereward Capell impressed Henry with his bargaining talents, and would go on to be one of his advisors.

As Henry's top supporters, Anthony Tyndale and Turbert the Bladecleaver would both be given duchies. Count Harold Parr, Barons Nicholas Warde and Simon Lyle, and others would join them. Even the lower ranks such as Paul Knyvett and Ava Carleton would be rewarded. 

With a fair hand and general amnesty to Osbert's forces, Henry Darro would bring peace to the land. No major rebellions would rise against him, and the Darro dynasty would be an enduring one. Eventually, his descendants would absorb both the Zel Confederation in the north and the Erin Woods in the southeast. Every golden age would eventually come to an end, but that story is for another time.


End file.
